


In Pieces

by Shadow15



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brock Rumlow is Just a Rapist, Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: HYDRA did more than just plotting to take SHIELD over. They plotted well in advance for what they would do after their successful takeover. And for some HYDRA agents - namely, Brock Rumlow - that meant keeping SHIELD personnel for themselves. Unfortunately for Fitz, Rumlow's eye had been on him since his Academy days - only, just now, Rumlow had the means to take him for himself.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Leo Fitz, Leo Fitz/Brock Rumlow, Leo Fitz/Grant Ward
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

Fitz had lost track of the sequence of events that had led to him being blindfolded and thrown into the back of a truck, with dried blood caking his hair to his scalp and his face stained from the ever flowing river of tears down his cheeks. He didn’t remember much; nothing outside of the traumatic betrayal, being blindfolded and marched from the room by a squad of armed men, only to hear the gun fight from inside the room he’d just been taken from getting quieter and quieter with every step he was forced to take. He didn’t know if his friends were dead or alive, and part of him wasn’t sure he  _ wanted  _ to know.

Although, with all the time Fitz had to ponder on it, he wasn’t sure that his friends dying could upset and frighten him more than he already was. 

The truck seemed to have come to a halt, Fitz thought, no longer swaying with every little movement. His suspicions were proven correct when the engine’s vibration was cut off, and the whirring of the motor fell silent. Doors opened and closed, but wherever Fitz was, no one came to him. 

Fitz’s tear-dampened blindfold became wetter once again as the trembling increased. Why had they taken him, he wondered for the thousandth time. Why had the orders been given to take him away from the firing line? Why just him? If someone wanted him for a use, why hadn’t they taken Jemma, too? 

No, no. Fitz shook his head as a pained whimper escaped him. Don’t think about Jemma; don’t think about what could have happened to her. Don’t think about what  _ would  _ have happened to her had they taken her alongside him. 

Fitz’s bottom lip quivered at his startlement when the door next to him was opened. He fidgeted with fright, but his hands tied behind his back and his bound feet gave him little to work with. His voice trembled as violently as his body was when he forced out, “D-d-don’t h-h-hurt me…” 

There was laughter all around. Multiple people were there, Fitz could tell. But they all jeered and taunted at once, and it was hard to distinguish any particular phrase. 

Fitz whimpered and cried out when he was grabbed by the shoulders and pulled forward. Instinctively, he tried to back away from the touch, slide himself as far away as he could, but it was useless; someone moved behind him and kicked him in the lower back before grabbing his hair and yanking him forward. 

“No! No!” Fitz was screaming now, his tears unabashedly rolling down his cheeks. “No, I won’t! You can’t make me! I don’t wanna be here! Let me go!” 

There was more laughter, until finally, one voice cut through the rest. “Jeez,  _ this  _ is the one he wanted? Seems like a fucking crybaby to me.” 

“Let me go, HYDRA scum! Let me go!” Fitz continued his screaming, his thrashes and struggles, but they weren’t getting him anywhere. “I want nothin’ to do with HYDRA!” 

Fitz was pulled from the truck, landing face-down unceremoniously in what felt like dirt. Had he been in a clearer mind, he would have thought about the implications that he’d been taken out of DC and into acreage, but he was too distressed to do so. 

“Get up, pussy!” 

Fitz was crying hard, harder than he had in his life as he was forced upright and dragged through the dirt by his shoulders. He wanted so badly to escape, to wake up and find that it had all been a dream - but he couldn’t; he couldn’t even get away from the hands insistent on dragging him to his doom. 

The sound of a door opening should have pulled Fitz from his panic, but it didn’t; he barely even registered when the dirt changed into cold, hard tiles. He curled into a ball, his tears never slowing when he was let go of and dropped to the ground. 

“You actually got him.” 

That was a new voice, Fitz recognised, and one that seemed familiar in a sense, but Fitz wasn’t sure  _ how _ . 

“Yeah, as easy as Garrett said it would be. He almost pissed his pants standing there!” 

A chuckle rang through the air, far louder to Fitz’s ears than it should be. “Thanks for your hard work, boys. It’s appreciated.” 

Fitz remained still, hoping that if he were lucky, he could become one with the ground and everyone would forget he was even there. He listened to the group of footsteps leaving until he was left with seemingly only one person. 

“Heya.” 

Fitz flinched at the soft touch to his shoulder, sniffing against his tears. “...” 

“Let’s take these off of ya, yeah?” The voice was gentle, but Fitz had seen for himself that HYDRA could not be trusted; all the people he’d thought had been his friends, and they’d…! 

Fitz whimpered as his hands and feet were untied. He took the new-found freedom to curl into himself tighter, but when he felt the blindfold being removed, he turned his neck almost painfully to hide his face against the floor instead. 

Another chuckle, and the gentle brush of fingers against his cheek. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Fitz? You may not even remember me.” 

Fitz didn’t dare look up, not wanting to see who his apparent kidnapper was. He bit at his lip, not even feeling the blood rushing down his skin. “...” 

“C’mon, Fitz, don’t be like that.” The other man was purring now, amusement deep in his voice. “It’s not as bad as it could be. ‘Sides, I finally got you to myself. Could never get near ya with that stupid bitch always around.” 

Fitz bit through his lips completely as a surge of anger broke through his panic. His tears came harder as he forced out, with every bit of bravery he could muster in the moment, “Don’t talk about Jemma like that…” 

Fitz’s bravery faltered when fingers wrapped in his curls once again and tugged his face from the floor, twisting his head so eye contact could be made. 

And whatever bravery Fitz may have felt vanished completely at the drop of his stomach when he looked into cold, brown eyes that had always frightened him every time they’d made contact at the Triskelion and Hub. 

Because Fitz had heard the stories, the rumours, and if there was even an ounce of truth to them, then he was caught completely in the jaws of a tiger that wouldn’t just devour him in one go; it would play with him first until it got bored.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, Jemma would have said, because Fitz had thought he was in a bad situation, but that was before he’d realised he’d just been delivered to the very Captain of STRIKE himself, and suddenly, he found himself wishing he was back at the Hub, staring down Garrett’s gun pointed straight at him with tears rolling down his cheeks, because it sure as hell was a better alternative than being Brock Rumlow’s plaything. 

  
  


‘


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz couldn’t stop shaking. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so scared in his life, but every time he thought about how badly he wanted Jemma there with him for comfort, he had to remind himself that it was better it was only him; he could never live with himself if something were to happen to Jemma because he was so  _ weak _ . 

Rumlow’s grin hadn’t lost its shark-like ferociousity, not even after the - presumably; Fitz couldn’t see any clocks anywhere in the shambles of a living room he’d been dragged into - hours he’d already spent staring at Fitz like a starved lion eyeing off a young child through the zoo’s viewing glass. 

At least Fitz’s wrists and ankles had been freed. That was a plus, and perhaps being sat on a deceivingly soft sofa despite its rips and tears and general dirtiness should have been also. 

What was far,  _ far  _ from a plus was the way Rumlow sat on the sofa next to him, with one arm around his shoulders to hold him against Rumlow’s frighteningly strong body. The hand that stroked endlessly at Fitz’s hair like a prized pet while Rumlow talked about anything and everything like he might have genuinely thought Fitz cared at all made Fitz feel sick to his stomach, but he was honestly too afraid to try and pull away.

And then, what Rumlow said next had Fitz curling into a ball. “Glad I laid my claim on ya first, Fitz; been wantin’ you so long. Some bastards in the low ranks tried claimin’ ya instead - let’s just say they haven’t been seen since.” 

Fitz’s tears came harder. He tried to move away from Rumlow’s hold, but all it accomplished was being held tighter, no longer a loose, almost casual hold, but one significantly forceful now. Rumlow was leering at him, his lips in a firm, yet unreadable line. 

“What’s that?” Rumlow’s tone had become hard now, and Fitz could  _ swear  _ he was being picked apart by those frightening eyes. “You  _ wanted  _ those scum over  _ me _ ?” 

Fitz looked at his lap, his body so tense, it was painful. His lip quivered as his tears rolled harder, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t put him in the path of another gun. His own whimpers were deafening to his ears, and Fitz had never felt so pathetic in his life. “...” 

Rumlow scoffed, and all danger seemed to vanish as his arm loosened and his entire demeanour relaxed. “You wouldn’t wanna know what they’d ‘a done to ya had they got ya first, Fitz. Least now yer safe.” 

Safe?  _ Safe?  _ With this - with this  _ monster _ ?! Fitz felt anger bubbling in his gut agan, but it was short-lived at knowing what Rumlow could do to him if he acted on it. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, forcing himself to speak, but trying to move the direction away from such a traumatic topic. He  _ resented  _ the quiver in his voice. “M-may I-I h-h-have somethin’ t-to e-e-eat…?” 

Rumlow snorted. His eyes darted over Fitz’s body before he nodded. “They didn’t feed ya on the way here? Those fucks.” 

Fitz didn’t give a reply verbally; instead, he stood when Rumlow did, following him to the kitchen. While his survival instincts weren’t top notch, being obedient for the time being seemed to be his best bet at surviving as nothing had been done to him so far. 

The kitchen was as shabby as the living room. Peeling wallpaper, holes in the walls, and dirty countertops covered in a thick layer of dust. The question of if this was Rumlow’s home, or if he’d only relocated here just long enough to toy with and murder Fitz crossed his mind. But he said nothing; only sat at the rickety-looking dining table when his shoulders were grabbed and manoeuvred towards it. 

“What d’ya want?” Rumlow’s voice was gruff, but he didn’t seem to be an immediate threat, so Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered out the first food to cross his mind.

“C-cheese…” Fitz didn’t even think about how pathetic his request was until Rumlow scoffed, but Fitz’s mind was in such a mess, he could only think that he had asked for too much and was about to be tortured to death. 

“Cheese? That it? No fuckin’ fancy five-star restaurant order?”

Fitz dragged his hands up to grasp painfully at his hair. His tears were almost hysteric now, but when Rumlow approached him, instead of slapping him across the face like Fitz had been expecting, Rumlow instead grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed. 

“Hey,” Rumlow gruffed at him. “Toughen up. Why are you cryin’? I ain’t fuckin’ done anythin’ to you ‘cept treat you good.” 

“I-I-I w-want to g-g-go h-home…!” Fitz couldn’t stop himself from wailing. He tried to pull away from Rumlow’s hands, but Rumlow only held him tighter. “P-please…! I-I m-miss m-my f-friends!” 

“This  _ is  _ your home now, Fitz.” Rumlow’s murmur was too quiet, too calm and  _ gentle  _ for a man with his reputation, but Fitz wasn’t in any condition to notice. He flinched away from the hand that came to caress his cheek, but the hand followed, persistent, until it finally rubbed against damp flesh. “Sorry I gotta tell you this so soon but your friends are dead. That’s why I took ya - couldn’t let ‘em kill you, too.” 

Fitz shook his head, his cries desperate. “No! No, they aren’t dead! They wouldn’t die so easily!” 

“But this is  _ HYDRA  _ we’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Rumlow cooed. His caressing resumed once he’d recaptured Fitz’s cheek. “Only person who can stand a chance against HYDRA is Captain America, and he’s dead, too, Fitz. Okay? They’re all dead. That’s why I took ya. Yer  _ safe  _ with me.” 

“I’m not safe with  _ you  _ of  _ all people _ !” Fitz shouted, not knowing why he was being so stupid but unable to hold it in any longer. “I was safe with my  _ friends _ ! I was safer with Garrett pointing his  _ gun  _ in my face! I’m not  _ safe  _ with a monster like  _ you _ ! I’ve heard the stories!” 

Rumlow’s expression was grim. He glared at Fitz, looking like he was murdering him ten times over in his mind, but when he spoke, there was a coldness in his tone that sent shivers down Fitz’s spine. “What stories have you heard, Fitz? Huh?” 

“I’ve heard them!” Fitz snapped. Perhaps he was just feeling suicidal in the moment, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “About you killing your own team because they messed up a mission! People say you’re a monster and you shouldn’t be trusted!” 

Rumlow was quiet for so long, Fitz’s tears came harder again as the bravery wore off. When he finally replied, his voice was tight. “You think  _ I  _ killed my own team? No, Fitz, that wasn’t me. Ya could ask Rollins ‘bout it since he was there, but  _ no,  _ Fitz, that  _ wasn’t  _ me and I  _ tried  _ to keep them alive.” 

“Liar! You’re a  _ monster _ !” 

“I’m a monster, Fitz?  _ Me?  _ You know  _ why  _ my team died? Not by  _ my  _ hand. By  _ HYDRA’ _ s. And I tried to  _ stop  _ it. They cooked up a  _ real  _ monster down in their labs seventy years ago and I just happened to lose control of him on a mission. My men died, but I got him back under control and spared Rollins at least. That thing had no punishment by my hand.  _ HYDRA  _ was the one who made him into a monster, and when I became his Handler, I  _ stopped  _ all the horrible shit they were doin’ to him. But tell me again how  _ I’m  _ the monster when all I ever did was my  _ job _ .” 

Fitz mustered up just a tiny bit of courage to whimper out, “T-they a-always said y-you’re a l-liar…” 

Fitz screamed when a fist flew past his head and into the table behind him. He cowered in submission, but to his surprise, no harm came to him; Rumlow instead let go of him and moved away to the dusty fridge to rummage around inside of it. 

Fitz’s heart was beating so fast, he was almost sure he was about to have a heart attack. 

***

The lack of light filtering through the grimey windows gave Fitz an idea that it was getting late, or perhaps even night had already fallen. But Fitz was still shaking, still frightened to his very core, and what made it even worse was Rumlow, somewhere in another room of the house holding a very loud, very abusive conversation over the phone. Fitz didn’t recognise the name Rumlow kept shouting; STRIKE Alpha was a team with constantly-changing rosters and only a handful of men were ever consistent from the encounters Fitz had had with them in the past. 

Rumlow sounded  _ pissed,  _ Fitz thought. The idea that Rumlow might take that anger out on him wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, and he shuddered to think about the torture he was more than likely in for. 

But Rumlow eventually returned, and his angry expression dissipated the second he looked at Fitz. He let out a heavy sigh, a sudden tiredness appearing in his features instead that aged him another decade or so, and for a brief second, Fitz was reminded of Coulson. 

But Fitz quickly shook that thought from his head, because the man standing before him could  _ never  _ be anything like  _ Coulson _ . 

Rumlow said nothing as he took his seat on the sofa once again, his arms reaching immediately for Fitz to pull him onto his lap. Fitz didn’t fight the action, too scared to trigger the anger to boiling point. 

“Some people are just fuckin’ retards,” Rumlow mumbled. One hand calloused from decades of weaponry and subsequent scarring stroked through Fitz’s curls with the tenderness of a new mother. “Can you fuckin’ believe him, Fitz? Tryin’ ta tell  _ me  _ how to do his damn job. If he’d just fuckin’ listened to me in the first place, it woulda been so much easier.” 

Fitz didn’t know what Rumlow was talking about, nor did he care or  _ want  _ to know. He gave a numb nod, his eyes blank and far,  _ far  _ away from the situation he was in. But Rumlow seemed satisfied enough as the stroking never faltered, and Rumlow quietened down to shift his attention onto the TV he’d sat in front of the entire time Fitz had been there. 

In the back of Fitz’s mind, he wondered if this was what his life was going to be now; stuck on the sofa in the arms of a maniac who couldn’t stop laughing at terrible sitcoms all day every day. 

Being struck down by Garrett would surely have been better than  _ this.  _

But after what felt like an eternity, the TV was turned off, and Rumlow rose to his feet with a yawn. His sharp eyes wandered over Fitz’s body, and Fitz couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him in response. 

Rumlow’s following grin was not comforting. “Ya gonna shower with me, Fitz?” 

Fitz’s throat tightened, and his saliva felt as if it had been trapped on the way down. He shook his head. “No…” 

“Why not? I took care of ya so well today, and you won’t even give me this?” Rumlow’s tone became quiet, but dangerously hard now. “You don’t want me to get  _ angry  _ at you, do you, Fitz?” 

Fitz’s trembling started again, and his eyes felt wet as he shook his head once more and whispered, “No…” 

Rumlow bent forward to cup Fitz’s face and murmur, “So why aren’t you doin’ what you’re told, Fitz?” 

Fitz’s sobs were deafening to his own ears, and his stuttering brought on a level of feeling pathetic he’d never really experienced before. “B-because I-I-I d-don’t w-want to s-shower w-w-with you… P-please… I-I’m not…” 

Rumlow laughed. “You’re not what? Not  _ gay _ ? Neither am I, but at least I can use the damn word.”

Fitz’s lack of self-preservation skills became painfully apparent once again as he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “T-then w-why do y-you want m-m-me to s-shower with y-you if y-y-you’re not g-gay…?” 

There was a sharpness in Rumlow’s eyes, and the raucous laughter he gave in response was almost manic. But as suddenly as it started, Rumlow fell silent, and his lips curled dangerously as he reached for Fitz’s shoulders and dragged him in so close with a grip so tight, Fitz knew there would be bruising the next day. 

Rumlow hadn’t even said a word before Fitz was screaming and pleading for his life.

Rumlow put their faces so close together, Fitz could feel hot breath billowing against his lips. His lips were still curled, deadly and dangerous, but his tone was calm. “Do you have a problem with gays, Fitz? Do you have a problem with  _ me _ ?” 

The shouting started so abruptly, Fitz tried desperately to get away. He thought of a thousand different scenarios he’d rather be in than this one, but no matter how badly he wished for even just one of them, he was still trapped in the grip of a man who suddenly looked ready to slaughter an entire army by himself.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Fitz was screaming back now, knowing how pathetic he surely looked with snot and tears all over his wet face. “Please! I’m sorry!” 

“Yer damn right you’re sorry!” Rumlow started shaking Fitz, so violently, Fitz’s head kept whipping back and forth uncontrollably. “Yer damn right! You’re  _ makin’  _ me punish you, Fitz! This is  _ your fault  _ yer bein’ punished!  _ You  _ forced my hand ‘cause yer too damn much of a homophobe to fuckin’ do as yer told!” 

But as quickly as the rage had started, it dwindled into calmness. Rumlow let go of Fitz’s shoulders so he could instead stroke Fitz’s hair again, smoothing it from its now-disheveled state and back into something almost presentable. Rumlow was smiling again, not the same sharky smile Fitz was terrified of, but instead something almost…  _ normal _ . 

Rumlow took Fitz’s trembling hand, so gently, it was almost deceiving. 

“C’mon.” Rumlow’s calm tone was even more terrifying than his angry one. “I’ll wash yer hair for ya.” 

With snot and tears still running down Fitz’s face, Fitz allowed himself to be dragged along, too scared to resist again. 

***

Fitz had to admit that he’d at least been left alone in the bathroom to redress himself. He took his time - not exactly just for the sake of doing so; his hands were trembling too violently to make it easy - waiting until the very last button of the sleeping shirt Rumlow had given him was buttoned. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, flinching away at his red face and puffy, bloodshot eyes. He snivelled, his nose blocked up now, but he was scared that if he were to waste any more time, Rumlow would hurt him again. 

So Fitz mustered up as much courage as he could before he moved to the door and opened it. His first instinct was to slam the door shut and hide in the bathtub, but he’d learnt enough already to know that Rumlow was a psycho and would likely hurt him if he were to do so. 

But what Fitz was seeing… 

It was one the hardest things he’d ever had to resist doing. 

Rumlow’s groan was loud, and the mattress squeaked under his movement. But his eyes were locked onto Fitz, and Fitz couldn’t help but stare at the engorged flesh Rumlow was holding in one hand that gave an interested twitch at his presence. 

Rumlow’s tone was heavy as he grinned. He reached out to pat the empty space on the mattress beside him as he husked, “C’mere. Plenty of room for us both.” 

Fitz wanted to throw up, to gouge his eyes out and put his fingers in his ears far enough to rupture his ear drums so he couldn’t bear witness to what was happening in front of him. But he didn’t. He allowed his fear of torture to guide his feet to the bed, the blankets already pulled back for him to slip beneath. 

Fitz got into the bed, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and promptly rolled over so his back was to Rumlow. 

“Ah-ah.” Rumlow’s hand reached out and grabbed Fitz by the shoulder, pulling him over to face him. “You look at  _ me.  _ Keep your eyes open and  _ watch _ .” 

Fitz did as he was told, his trembling never faltering, but for the first time that day, he found a place inside his head to retreat to, that allowed him to keep his eyes on Rumlow, but also disappear far enough inside his head, he could almost pretend none of this had ever happened. 


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz didn’t think he’d had even a moment’s sleep in the probable eternity he’d been trapped inside that ramshackle house with a psychopath seemingly hellbent on tormenting him before his inevitable final moments. 

So of course, with his brain clouded and his reasoning out the window, Fitz was sure he was imagining the familiar voice from somewhere inside the house, because it  _ definitely  _ wasn’t Rumlow, and he hadn’t seen another soul since being brought here. 

Fitz thought about getting up from the sofa Rumlow had told him to stay on while he went into one of the back rooms to attend to business, but he decided against it; so far, Rumlow hadn’t tortured him, and he didn’t want to push his luck. 

But when violent crashes started almost shaking the house, accompanied by frenzied yells that came from more than just one person, Fitz was on his feet and running desperately for the front door. 

The door wouldn’t open, no matter how hard Fitz forced it or even slammed his weight against it. He was unaware of the tears running down his cheeks as he abandoned his original idea and instead tried the windows, but they were bolted shut and the glass seemingly reinforced as not even a chair was enough to create so much as a crack. 

Fitz was erratic as he tried desperately to escape, but no matter how many rooms he ran through, there was no way for him to get out of the house. He didn’t know what room Rumlow was in, or what was happening for the bangs and yells to still be occurring, but Fitz’s mind was too erratic to care; all he saw was an opportunity to escape, and he was going to take that, no matter what. 

But when Fitz ran through a doorway that looked like it was threatening to collapse any minute now, he slammed into a solid mass that was too warm to be an inanimate object. His body tensed, and he almost didn’t dare to peer up to see the face of Rumlow that would  _ promise  _ punishment for leaving the sofa. 

But instead of Rumlow, Fitz let out a loud sob of relief as his arms wrapped instinctively around the familiar body of Ward, his mind screaming out that finally,  _ finally,  _ he was safe, and he was being rescued. 

“Ward!” Fitz’s voice trembled as violently as the crashes from earlier had. “Ward, please, please, please! Please, I want to go home! Please!” 

Ward wrapped one arm around Fitz and held him close. His eyes were soft as he peered down, his expression warm, and his embrace was even warmer. His voice was soft, tender, as he murmured, “It’s okay, Fitz; we’re going to get you out of here.” 

“W-where’s Jemma?!” Fitz’s eyes were still overflowing with tears as he gazed desperately at Ward. When no response came, he tried again, louder. “Ward! Where’s Jemma?! Is she okay?!” 

“C’mon. We need to get out of here. My men are taking care of Rumlow.” Ward reached down to take Fitz by the wrist, pulling him back further into the house and to a doorway that hung open forebodingly. “Let’s get you home.” 

Fitz allowed himself to be dragged through the house. He wasn’t aware of the way the house was eerily quiet now, the yells that, now that Fitz was thinking about it, had sounded oddly Russian, silenced. Fitz didn’t think about any of that; all he thought about was escape.

The doorway Ward led him to revealed a set of stairs that led to what appeared to be a basement, Fitz could see. He didn’t think anything of it; there must have been some sort of escape tunnel or something down there that Ward was aware of.

Fitz allowed himself to be pulled down the stairs, but when they’d reached solid ground and turned a corner, he froze in his tracks at the group of people he’d been brought face-to-face with. He sobbed loudly again, his body shaking violently as his eyes met the amused gaze of Garrett, the very same Garrett who had gotten him into this situation in the first place. 

Fitz whimpered and looked to Ward, moving close enough so that their bodies pressed together as he sought his friend’s protection. 

“Take your little mutt back; it won’t stop hugging me.” 

Fitz cried out in fright when he felt his arms being ripped from Ward’s body seconds before he was shoved towards a more shadowy figure hidden in the corner. His heart raced so quickly, he felt like he was about to pass out when he heard Rumlow’s familiar chuckle. 

“He was trying to escape,” Ward announced, calmly, way too calm for the situation at hand. “I caught him for you. We’ll take extra payment on top of what we agreed on for that.” 

Rumlow snorted. He stepped out of the shadows to lean down and take Fitz by the wrist, tugging him to his feet. “You’ve got an extra five-hundred just ‘cause it must have been amusin’ at first.” 

Fitz whimpered. His tears ran like rivers down his cheeks as he begged, “Ward, you’re my friend! What are you doin’?! You’re supposed to help me!” 

Garrett turned to Ward, his tone soft, gentle, but  _ manipulative _ , Fitz could hear. “You don’t  _ really  _ care about them, do you? It makes you weak if you do.” 

Ward didn’t reply for the longest time as his eyes stayed locked on Fitz. There were flickers of so much emotion, Fitz couldn’t even begin to decipher where his mind was at. His tone was cold, almost regretful to a degree, as he murmured, “You’re right. It  _ is  _ a weakness.” 

Rumlow laughed. He grabbed Fitz by the chin and forced him to look at him. “You hear that? Even your friends don’t care ‘bout ya. That girl you jerked your cock to so much? Ward killed her himself. Didn’t’cha, Ward?” 

Ward gave no response, not even in the slightest; his cold eyes only stayed on Fitz. 

“Ward! I need you to explain!” Fitz was desperate, and he didn’t care how pathetic his begging made him; Ward was his friend, and everything else was a lie. Ward was here to help him, to save him - surely this was nothing but an undercover op, no different to anything else they’d done in the past. In just minutes, Ward would shoot everyone in the room and take him to freedom - he  _ knew  _ it! 

But… Ward still didn’t move, not even as the minutes elapsed into what felt like hours. 

“Ward, you’re my friend, and you  _ care  _ about us!” Fitz was hysterical, his legs barely holding his weight as he screamed and cried and begged. “You  _ care  _ about us, and you -” 

Fitz flinched away and fell into silence when Ward moved with the lightning strike of a venomous snake to draw his pistol, just like Fitz had expected him to do - but what Fitz  _ hadn’t  _ expected was for Ward to aim the gun at him, like a lame dog that no longer served any purpose to its master. 

The entire basement echoed with the sound of other guns being drawn and the safety pulled back, coming from corners, from people that Fitz hadn’t even realised were present. No one moved a muscle; only Rumlow broke the silence with his loud, arrogant voice that had made him such a good Commander. 

“Muzzle your dog before I sic mine onto him,” Rumlow warned. His finger toyed with the trigger, the gun aimed square between Ward’s eyes. “He shoots Fitz and I let it loose.” 

Garrett was the first to lower his gun. The basement only relaxed when Garrett reached out and pushed Ward’s arm down to his side, the sound of so many safety latches being deactivated that Fitz didn’t know how he could have missed so many others, despite the darkness they were in. 

Fitz didn’t know what to do. He was desperate enough for comfort, for his head to stop hurting so badly with the constant betrayals, and even if it meant hiding his face against Rumlow’s side, he’d take it if it meant even the slightest reprieve from the pain. Rumlow leant down to kiss the top of his head, and as wrong as Fitz knew it was, he took comfort from the action; at least there was  _ some  _ sort of consistency in this new, upside-down world he felt trapped in. 

There was discussion again, bargaining that Fitz didn’t care for and paid no heed to, but when a new voice spoke up, he pulled his head from Rumlow’s side to finally look around and take in his surroundings properly. 

Rumlow’s second-in-command from his STRIKE team was present, and though he’d always been a man of intimidating bulk and height, in the current situation, Fitz found him terrifying. Jack Rollins had always been a quiet man, and Fitz wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak, but now that he was murmuring, Fitz found himself immediately relieved that things could have been worse; it could have been Rollins who had taken him captive. 

“It’s ready, Rumlow.” Rollins’ voice was gruff, and it sent shivers down Fitz’s spine. “All readings are normal. It’s been tranqed and calmed down; restraints are reinforced.” 

“Good.” Rumlow’s fingers carded gently through Fitz’s curls in an absent-minded manner. “Take the restraints off and let him rest. Complete the transaction with Garrett and then you can have a bit of fun with the Asset before you head off.” 

Rollins nodded. He vanished back into the darkest corner to toy with something Fitz couldn’t quite make out, but he was only there for a few moments before he was approaching Ward and Garrett, nodding at them to follow him from the basement. 

Rumlow kissed Fitz’s temple before he wrapped his arm tight around him in a manner that  _ looked  _ loving, but was nothing but terrifying. Without prompt, like he thought that Fitz might actually be interested or even  _ care,  _ he announced, “I paid Garrett and Ward to do a retrieval mission for me and bring back my Asset. I’ll introduce you to him when he’s in a more… suggestible state.” 

Fitz didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like the sound of  _ any  _ of this. He allowed himself to be guided from the basement and back to the sofa he felt like he’d spent the last ten years on, but he couldn’t argue, or fight back - hell, he couldn’t even be  _ rescued,  _ and as much as he wanted to cry over this knowledge, he couldn’t; there was an emptiness inside of him, consuming him until he felt so numb, he was sure he wouldn’t have even cared if Rumlow started hacking off his limbs with a saw. 

***

The ramshackle house was busy for once. The men coming and going must have been other HYDRA operatives, Fitz figured, hanging around for whatever reason. 

Fitz found out what that reason was later that night when he’d curled up on the sofa in Rumlow’s lap, desperate for warmth he  _ knew  _ wouldn’t stop the shaking, and all he could hear were jeers and moans coming from the basement. There was some sort of orgy happening down there, but Fitz didn’t think all was as it sounded. 

“I used to take him myself,” Rumlow murmured out of the blue, at a particularly loud moan that had Fitz flinching. His fingers were playing with Fitz’s curls again, massaging into the nape of his neck every so often. He sounded dreamy, almost like he was reminiscent of a time gone by. “Out on missions. He’d come back covered in blood and I couldn’t help myself. The guys always wanted a piece o’ him but he was mine, and I hate sharin’. But now that I finally got ya, I figured the guys could finally get a piece o’ him too.” 

Fitz hid his face in his hands now. “Is he… Is he here just to be…” 

“No. I don’t wanna touch him now that I got ya. He’s here ‘cause he’s a damn good guard dog and follows his orders. But why not give the guys a taste, ya know? They  _ did  _ capture him again, after all. He’d ‘a been runnin’ around like a stray with no one to give him orders otherwise. It woulda been a waste.” 

“You’re sick…” 

Rumlow barked out a laugh. “Maybe. But a good fuck is one of the handful of things he’s useful for. ‘Sides…” 

Fitz flinched when fingertips started trailing over his hip. “...” 

“...Don’t gotta worry ‘bout him when  _ you  _ gonna be the one to get my dick now.” Rumlow’s fingers squeezed at Fitz’s hip so tightly, Fitz was sure he was going to be bruised by morning. “And you’re gonna  _ enjoy  _ it.” 

Fitz choked on his own saliva at that. If that was the alternative to being forced to watch Rumlow getting himself off every damn night, then Fitz would rather die. 

Anything was better than getting dicked down by a goddamn Nazi terrorist, after all. 


	4. Chapter 4

It hurt more than Fitz could ever have expected. He yowled in agony, his body thrashing to escape, but he was held down by a pair of hands too strong to escape. He screamed, feeling like his body was being torn into two, the burning pain feeling like he’d been set on fire from the inside. 

Fitz wanted nothing more than to escape, to find somewhere he could curl up and hide and perhaps even die where Rumlow would never find him again. Perhaps Fitz might have even had a chance to get away, but the man from the basement had been summoned to the bedroom while Fitz had been showering - as per Rumlow’s orders, of course; he seemed obsessed with cleanliness despite how greasy he always felt to Fitz - and ordered to hold Fitz down on his back. The man must have had an affinity for shadows, because even in the bedroom he was still unseen, only his huge, bulky mass looking like something out of a nightmare come true. 

No matter how much Fitz begged or pleaded, it never earned him anything but a soft shush from the basement man behind him, holding him down by his shoulders while Rumlow rocked above him, gripping him so tightly by the hips he was going to be bruised come morning. 

Rumlow gave a deep, guttural groan at a particularly hard thrust that almost knocked the life right out of Fitz. He reached out to stroke Fitz’s face, smiling at him almost sincerely. Maybe it could have been a nice, comforting smile if his eyes weren’t rife with lust and maliciousness. 

“I know it hurts, baby,” Rumlow kept cooing. He made no move to stop or even slow his movements. “It always hurts for your first time. It’s okay to cry. I promise. Shh…” 

“Please…!” Fitz sobbed. “Please, please, please! Please, stop! It hurts so much!” 

“Shh.” It was the same man holding Fitz down, but despite Fitz’s agonised state of mind, he still took notice of the detachment in the man’s shushing, like perhaps it was something he wasn’t even aware he was doing. The room was too dark to see who was holding him, the lights turned out and only the light of the moon illuminating Fitz and Rumlow. 

“I know it hurts,” Rumlow promised. “But you’ll get used to it with time~ It always hurts a virgin. You just need experience.” 

“Shh.” 

“Stop tellin’ me to shush!” Fitz couldn’t help but scream in anguish. “Stop it!”

There was movement behind Fitz, enough movement that the moon cast light briefly across a face that looked incredibly confused, giving weight to Fitz’s theory about what he was unaware of doing. 

Had they kept telling him to shush while doing this to him? It was a plausible theory. 

Rumlow chuckled. “He’s only doin’ what he’s been taught himself. Don’t be so mad at him.” 

Fitz cried loudly for a few moments before trying to beg again. “Please, just  _ stop _ ! I don’t wanna do this! Not like this!” 

“Not like this?” Rumlow hummed curiously. “You really  _ are  _ a little closet fag, aren’t ya? You mean you’d have wanted this if I courted ya, took ya out on little dinner dates and doted on you at the cinemas?” 

“Please! It hurts! It hurts!” 

“This is a HYDRA world now, baby; we can’t just be gallivantin’ to the movies.” Rumlow paused now, moving only to lean down and whisper into Fitz’s ear. “Yer a wanted thing by HYDRA, sweetheart. All SHIELD operatives are. I take ya out somewhere, I risk losing ya. So sorry, but we gotta do things my way for now.” 

“You said you rescued me!” Fitz sobbed, trying his hardest to play on Rumlow’s own words. “You said you rescued me and I was protected now!”

“Protected from my  _ men,  _ yes. But there are still a lot of HYDRA heads out there who don’t want  _ no  _ SHIELD livin’. Yer safe with me - but takin’ ya out? So soon? Baby, it don’t work that way.” 

Fitz squealed in pain when he felt Rumlow start moving again. He wished for Rumlow to hurry up, to finish already, even if it meant having to be filled by his release. He could handle that if it meant a reprieve from what Rumlow was doing -  _ had been  _ doing for what the alarm clock beside his head kept taunting him had been almost an hour now. 

What had happened to that old man stamina Fitz had always heard so much about? Maybe that was why it was taking so long; because Rumlow knew that if he finished, he wasn’t going to get it up again, so he was prolonging everything to last as long as he could. 

If that was the case…

Fitz thrust his hips down, trying to get Rumlow to finish. Rumlow let out a small moan of surprise, but all it accomplished was him driving his hips back inside with even more force now that he thought Fitz wanted it. 

“Yeah… That’s it, baby… That’s it…” Rumlow’s breath was hot by Fitz’s ear. His voice was husky, heavy and aroused, but every word that spewed past his lips had Fitz feeling anything but horny. “Show me you want it… You little slut, that’s right… Take it!” 

Fitz scrunched his face up in agony. He could feel liquids seeping out of him, but he was sure it was blood; he’d felt it earlier, when Rumlow had first started. He willed himself to keep quiet now, to endure silently if it meant Rumlow was finally going to finish. The man above him was still holding him down, but he also had gone silent, hidden in the dark once again. Sometimes Fitz wondered if he were imagining the feeling of cool metal on his bare skin. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Rumlow’s hips were snapping in and out much faster, harder, and Fitz knew by his stuttering thrusts that he was on the brink of orgasm. He forced his hips down again, trying to encourage release desperately. “Shit! Fitz, I fuckin’... Oh,  _ fuck,  _ yes, that’s it, baby… Mmm… You like that?”

Fitz was sure he was going to throw up when Rumlow’s hips fell still, and a sticky liquid started filling him next. The tears rolled silently down his cheeks, but the lesson had been learnt; if this were to keep happening, Fitz needed to get him to finish as quickly as he could. 

Rumlow dropped his heavy weight on top of Fitz’s trembling body. He was sweaty, hot, and he smelled so strongly of sex, Fitz couldn’t stop the dribble of vomit that seeped past his lips. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body shaking violently and his hands coming up into the air in search of something comforting to grasp, but all they could do in the end was rub his chest absentmindedly. 

The hands that had been holding Fitz down were moved, one final shush given before he was ordered to leave the bedroom and return to his sleeping quarters in the basement. 

Fitz wanted to get up and shower, to turn the water on as hot as he could get it to scald away every touch that Rumlow had given him. He wanted to scrub himself raw to take away the memories, to jump into a huge vial of bleach if that was what it took to feel clean again. 

And the worst part? 

Even after blatantly raping Fitz, Rumlow still could wrap his arms around him and hold him close, as if what they had just shared together was nothing more than mutual love-making. 

Fitz’s eyes stayed open the entire night, staring blankly ahead of him as vomit intermittently spewed past his lips and onto the pillow beneath him. 

Fitz had never felt so dirty in his life, and if he could, he would lock himself away in the bathroom, beneath the scalding downpour of water, and never be seen again. 

But he couldn’t, and Fitz was starting to learn that here and now, he was full of nothing more than wishful thinking. 

***

Rumlow had left Fitz alone for the morning. Apparently even kidnappers and rapists had to go into town for supplies, and after a long shower that consisted of being forcefully bathed by his assaulter, Rumlow left in what sounded like an old, beaten up truck that was on its last legs. 

But that meant that Fitz had the opportunity to wander unimpeded, and after another search of the house that left him with no escape options, he found himself down in the basement. 

Fitz almost didn’t see the other person down here. He heard him rather than saw him, rustling about in the darkest corner of the basement like some sort of real life horror movie monster. 

Fitz felt his eyes well with tears as he listened to the movement; in the back of his mind, it reminded him almost of some sort of stray animal trying to hide itself from approaching humans. 

But that couldn’t be right, because this…  _ real life monster  _ had held him down and allowed him to be violated. It couldn’t be afraid of people - it  _ couldn’t _ . 

Except, that when Fitz got too close, he was warned off by a growl too animalistic to be human. 

Fitz’s tears still rolled weakly down his cheeks. He stayed where he was, but he dropped to his knees to appear less threatening. He bowed his head in submission. “You kept telling me to shush last night…” 

More rustling, more growling, as if what Fitz was saying was making it uneasy. 

“Did they tell  _ you  _ to shush, too…?” Fitz closed his eyes. “Rumlow said they used to do the same to you… Did they used to tell you to shush, too?” 

No response, not even a rustle. 

Fitz frowned. “I guess they did… So why didn’t you help me…? Are you scared of them, too…?” 

A growl, softer this time, filled the stale basement air. 

Fitz let out a sigh. His body hurt beyond words, his mind hurting even more, but still, he found the strength in him to creep closer and closer despite the growls until he met for the first time the other human being held here. 

Fitz sniffed back tears as the emotional baggage became too much to bear at the sight of the other, dirty and ragged and looking almost more machine than human with the metal arm melded into deeply-scarred flesh. He was curled up in a single, moth-eaten, dusty sheet that would not even even the slightest warmth against the tiniest bit of chill, thrown haphazardly onto the hard, basement cement with no mattress to rest on. 

What got Fitz the most was the anger, the hatred, and the  _ fear  _ in the other’s expression. 

Fitz dropped to his haunches and kept his head bowed submissively. He winced at the pain the action sparked throughout his body, trying not to let it be another reason for him to cry. “You know, we can get out of -” 

The other man’s head snapped upward, glaring toward one of the tiny wall windows that allowed a little light to filter into the basement. He was growling again, moving about in his blankets like a restless dog that had nowhere to go. Fitz watched the way the man grabbed at his tac jacket and pulled it over his head, a flimsy hiding place, but a hiding place none-the-less.

Fitz heard the sound a few moments later, the same old worn engine barely sputtering along that signified Rumlow’s return. 

Fitz left the basement without another word, rushing up the rickety stairs as best he could in his pained condition. He sniffed back tears, scared that he would be punished for being down there, but when Rumlow returned with a paper bag full of groceries in his arms, he didn’t look like he’d cared at all to find Fitz in the doorway of the basement, looking like he’d just seen Hell. 

“You finally met Winter.” Rumlow’s gruff voice was the same as always, no anger, no awaiting punishment that Fitz could pick out. “He try and rip out yer throat? He has a habit of doing that when he feels threatened.” 

“You keep him down there… like he’s a  _ dog _ …” Fitz whispered. 

“He  _ is  _ a dog,” Rumlow explained. “His brains are too fried to be anythin’ else. He ain’t a human, let that be the first thing you learn ‘bout him. You teach a dog who its master is - no different with ‘im. Sometimes he just needs a few more kicks to the head than usual to get it through his thick skull.” 

“He doesn’t even have  _ blankets _ .” 

“He don’t need ‘em; he’s more than used to freezing cold. He might hate the cold, but he ain’t gonna die from it, Fitz.” 

The damn finally broke now when Fitz let his tears run rapidly down his cheeks as he whispered, “Are you goin’ to do the same to  _ me _ …?” 

Rumlow’s expression twisted into something that could almost be considered soft. He dumped the grocery bag onto a counter and moved forward to take Fitz into his arms. He brushed stray curls from Fitz’s eyes before he leaned down and kissed him softly. “Oh, Fitz, no… No, you’re  _ different  _ to Winter. You’re different, baby. You just need some…  _ training,  _ that’s all. But you’re not like Winter. Promise.” 

Somehow, Fitz didn’t think the assurances to be very comforting. 


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t want to keep watchin’ the TV…” Fitz’s whisper was full of fear, but even after however long he’d been inside that house with Rumlow, he’d never been punished; he’d never know how far he could toe the line if he didn’t  _ try,  _ either. 

Rumlow looked at Fitz curiously, an almost challenging look in his eyes. His smile was almost soft as he reached out to brush curls away from Fitz’s eyes. “What do ya wanna do, baby?” 

Fitz’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he looked at the window to the outside world. It was still light outside, but the sky had darkened from the raging storm outside. 

But maybe this was where he’d be going too far… 

“I want to go outside…” Fitz whispered longingly. “Please…?” 

Rumlow stiffened from beside Fitz. His tone was hard as he shook his head and growled out his response. “ _ No _ . You’ll run away.” 

“Please…” Fitz felt lightheaded again, like he’d been bashed around the head ten times with a steel pole. “Please… Please, please,  _ please _ …!” 

Rumlow’s tone was hard, harder than it had been during Fitz’s time here. Fitz knew he was greatly displeased. “If you don’t wanna watch the TV, then we can go upstairs and fuck.” 

Fitz didn’t know what had come over him. He’d torn himself out of Rumlow’s arms and threw himself against the wall, smashing his head into it over and over again until the lightheadedness made him feel too sick to continue. He replaced his head with his fists, pummelling viciously until a few cracks appeared in the plaster. He got in a good kick as well, but he quickly let out a howl and stopped when something broke in his foot.

“Fitz!” Rumlow was up and grabbing Fitz, pulling him away from the wall, but Fitz wouldn’t stop trying to get back to it. “Fitz,  _ stop _ !” 

“I wanna go outside!” Fitz was screaming, so loudly he could feel his throat tearing. “I wanna go home! I hate this and I hate being here and I hate you! I wanna go home! I wanna go outside! I don’t wanna be here anymore! Please, just let me  _ go _ , I  _ beg  _ you!  _ Let me gooooooo!”  _

Rumlow wrapped himself tightly around Fitz to keep him still. He held Fitz’s arms by his side, his hard eyes focused on the blood that was quickly turning Fitz’s curls red. His teeth were bared as he dragged Fitz back to the sofa and forced him to lay down so he could assess the damage. 

But Fitz wasn’t making it easy, and Rumlow had half a mind to grab his stun baton and whack Fitz around the head with it until he was properly unconscious. 

But Rumlow would never hurt Fitz, and if he had to fight him to take care of his injuries, he would. 

“You fuckin’ dumbass,” Rumlow muttered to himself as he grabbed both of Fitz’s wrists in one hand to stop his arms flailing. “You  _ tryin’a  _ kill yerself? Look at ya; you fuckin’ concussed yourself and yer foot’s swollen like a motherfucker.” 

“I just wanna go  _ home _ !” Fitz screamed. “Just let me go  _ home _ !” 

“You  _ are  _ home; you ain’t got nowhere else you  _ can  _ go,” Rumlow reminded gruffly. “Now stay still so I can fuckin’ look at your head. Or you want me to go get Winter and make him  _ make  _ you stay still?” 

“I hate you…!” Fitz whimpered weakly. “I hate you so much…” 

“Yeah, I haven’t heard that one before.” Rumlow rolled his eyes. He did his checks now that Fitz was quietening down, taking his time and observing every reaction carefully until finally, he announced, “Yer concussed and you broke yer damn foot and one wrist.” 

Fitz didn’t know what he was expecting. His mind was foggy, and all he could manage was murmuring about how much he hated Rumlow and wanted to go home. He supposed he was expecting something more like being strangled to death now that he’d gone and messed up his usefulness, or even Rumlow sawing off his broken foot and replacing it with a metal one like Winter’s arm.

But instead, Rumlow reached out and lifted Fitz into his arms, carrying him up the squeaking, unsteady staircase and into the bedroom. He pulled the blankets back before laying Fitz down tenderly on the mattress, and maybe the scene  _ could  _ have passed for caring with the way Rumlow tucked him in tightly and patted his hair before kissing his forehead, but Fitz knew better; Rumlow was fucked up, and there  _ was _ no caring bone in his body. 

But when Rumlow went into the bathroom to return with a few things before sitting on the edge of the bed to carefully tend to Fitz’s broken foot, Fitz couldn’t help but wonder for one passing second,  _ did  _ Rumlow actually care about him?

There was no time to think too much on it, because with every passing second, Fitz’s eyelids grew too heavy to hold open, and he fell asleep to Rumlow’s fingertips pressing so gently around his foot, it was almost like he was afraid of hurting him. 

***

“Fitz… Fitz, wake up.” 

Fitz’s eyes flickered weakly before they opened. He could hear Rumlow cooing sweetly by his ear, feel the man’s weapon-calloused fingers caressing his cheek. He sighed and looked to Rumlow from the corner of his eyes, focused more on how comfortable the mattress was beneath his aching body, and how warm he felt wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, than he was the sweetness Rumlow was bestowing him. “...” 

“I’m going out for a while, sweetheart,” Rumlow murmured. “Is your head feeling better today?” 

Fitz frowned at the question. He hadn’t been leaving his bed since hurting his head, and he’d lost count of the sunsets and sunrises he had watched pass. For all he knew, he’d been injured for a month and his head wasn’t feeling much better than the day he’d concussed it. “...” 

Rumlow grabbed Fitz’s hand and kissed the back of it before he clasped it in both hands and murmured, “Try not to walk too much on that foot; it’s still healin’. I brought you up some breakfast and orange juice if yer hungry.” 

Fitz didn’t understand what was going on anymore. Rumlow had been so terrifying, but now that Fitz was the most vulnerable he’d actually been, Rumlow had been nothing but gentle and doting upon him. “...” 

Rumlow took Fitz’s chin between two fingers and leaned down to kiss his lips. When he pulled away, he brushed curls from Fitz’s forehead and whispered, “I’ll be back soon. Winter is on guard duty while I’m gone so you’re safe.” 

Fitz didn’t give any response; he only watched Rumlow leave the room with his tired, half-lidded eyes that couldn’t see much past the blurs and double vision. 

But long after the old truck had fired up and pluttered out of hearing distance, Fitz finally sat up and looked at the meal Rumlow had left him on the bedside drawers. It wasn’t much, but Rumlow hadn’t been giving him anything but light meals since the concussion. But Fitz had to admit he  _ did  _ like the choc chip pieces Rumlow mixed into his honey coated oatmeal. 

Fitz took the bowl, tender due to his broken wrist, and ate the oatmeal slowly. He did his best to keep it down, and once he was sure he wasn’t going to vomit it back up, he reached for the orange juice and sipped at it. 

Fitz didn’t get out of bed for a few more hours according to the alarm clock, not until ten o’clock had come and gone. He limped slowly from the bedroom, down the stairs, and through the house, no longer desiring to check for an escape he had come to accept would never be there; instead, he meandered slowly throughout the house, trying to find something to entertain himself with. 

But there was nothing to do, nothing except watch the damn TV that Fitz just wanted to throw a chair against. 

Winter wasn’t down in the basement, Fitz found, and though Fitz knew that that surely meant there was a way to get in and out of the house, he didn’t care any longer to find it. 

Fitz hated that he ended up on the same sofa he’d felt so trapped on before, but what else was there to do? Nothing. 

The time passed by in a daze, and Fitz had no way of knowing how long it had been before the front door opened, and Winter stepped inside, armed with a sniper rifle that made Fitz flinch. Winter only spared him a brief glance before he made his way back to the basement, uninterested in Fitz.

But Fitz got up and followed him, slow and unsteady but surely eventually standing before Winter, who had curled up on his single raggedy sheet like a dog left out in the cold. 

“Are you hungry?” Judging by Winter’s thin appearance, he would indeed be hungry. “I… I didn’t eat all my breakfast, so you… You can have it if you want.” 

Winter just glared at him with that cold, piercing gaze that seemed to rip straight through Fitz. He was growling again, like a cornered mutt that knew it was going to have to fight for its life sooner or later. 

Fitz sat down when the lightheadedness became too much. He groaned loudly, holding his head as nausea overwhelmed him. But once it was over, Fitz went back upstairs, into the bedroom to retrieve his cold bowl of oatmeal and bring it to Winter. 

“Here,” Fitz murmured once he was standing before Winter again. He knelt to put the bowl on the ground like a peace offering, stepping back to give Winter more confidence about taking it. “I know it’s cold… But it’s probably the only decent thing to eat.” 

But still, Winter didn’t take the food; he only glared at the bowl like it was the cause of all his misery. Fitz felt like it was a small victory that Winter had stopped growling, though. 

Fitz sat down again, resting his head against the cold, damp wall. He exhaled loudly, his mumbles barely comprehensible to his own ears. “Wish I could go back to my friends…” 

“...” Winter’s eyes were on Fitz again, a wariness to them now. 

“What ‘bout you? You got any friends or family you missin’?” Fitz frowned when the growls started up again. “Okay, okay. Sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t thinkin’. You’re probably in the same situation as I am.” 

“...” 

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Fitz offered a tiny smile that couldn’t reach his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. “It’s okay. Sometimes it’s better to be that way.” 

Fitz watched Winter as he tried to lay himself down on his sheet and succeed in wrapping himself up in it, but it was too small. Fitz got up and moved closer. “Here, let me help.” 

Fitz reached his hand out to Winter. He jumped back with a piercing scream when Winter lunged at him so quickly, Fitz didn’t even see him move. He fell onto his back, whimpering as he braced himself for an attack that never came. He cracked open an eyelid he didn’t remember squeezing shut to see Winter now laying back down, trying once more to wrap himself up. 

Fitz should have known better. He should have  _ understood,  _ because from what he knew to have happened to Winter, Fitz likely felt the same in that he was afraid of the idea of physical touch now. If Winter had had it worse than Fitz - and for so much longer, according to Rumlow - Winter would probably never want to be touched again in his  _ life,  _ not have  _ anyone  _ even  _ approach  _ him. 

And Fitz had foolishly reached out for him without even  _ thinking _ . 

“I’m sorry…” Fitz whispered. “I’m… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have tried to touch you… I get if you’re afraid, Winter… I just… I just wanted to help you. I wasn’t gonna hurt you.” 

But if Winter believed those words or not, Fitz didn’t know, because all Winter did was close one eye and stare warily at him with the other now that he had given up on trying to get warm. 

But there  _ was  _ something Fitz could do, now that he was thinking of it. With a quiet promise that he would be back, Fitz traversed the rickety staircase once again to fetch the blanket from the bed he shared with Rumlow and bring it back to Winter. Winter still didn’t accept his offering - but Fitz could see the way Winter eyed it with a desperate longing he probably didn’t know how to hide. 

Fitz hadn’t heard Rumlow’s return, and if Winter had or not, he hadn’t shown it, because when Rumlow’s voice sounded from the bottom of the staircase, Fitz almost jumped out of his skin in fright. 

Rumlow sounded amused as he sauntered to Fitz’s side. “What are ya doin’? He don’t need no blanket, Fitz.” 

“He’s cold…” Fitz whispered. “Please? Can he have it…?”

Rumlow hummed, almost as if he was considering the request. He shook his head, smirking as he moved forward to take the blanket, making sure to snatch it away slowly with his eyes locked on Winter’s as he laughed at the heartbreak in those desperate eyes. 

“You know, when you’re not wiped, you’re fuckin’ creepy, Winter.” Rumlow snorted at the flash of fury that crossed Winter’s eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. You want me to shove my stun baton up your ass again? ‘Cause I fuckin’ will if you look at me like that again. You  _ want  _ me to wipe you? Drag you back to the closest facility and put ya in the chair?” 

Winter’s eyes became full of fear now, and Fitz’s heart broke at the sight. “...” 

“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought.” Rumlow made sure to hold Winter’s eye contact as he wrapped the blanket around Fitz. “It’s  _ Fitz’s  _ blanket - not for a fuckin’ half-brain-dead mutt. I find your fuckin’ fingers so much as  _ touched  _ the blanket and I break them all - even the metal ones.” 

Fitz looked down to the ground now. He hadn’t meant to get Winter into trouble, but here he was, fucking things up even more. “I’m sorry, Winter…” 

Winter’s eyes locked onto Fitz, his gaze so intense, Fitz felt almost naked beneath his gaze. Fitz allowed himself to be guided back upstairs, back into the bedroom and into the bed for more rest. 

But Fitz couldn’t sleep, and he was sure it wasn’t just because of Rumlow in the bed next to him, his jeans around his knees and his hand drawing loud moans from his mouth as he stared hungrily at Fitz. 

Fitz’s mind was a busy place, and what he wouldn’t give for  _ silence _ . 


	6. Chapter 6

“My head hurts…” 

Rumlow frowned down at Fitz. He slid along the sofa until he was leaning into the arm of it. He reached out, wrapping his own arm around Fitz’s shoulders and dragged him to lay across the sofa and rest his head in Rumlow’s lap. His fingers massaged the nape of Fitz’s neck gently. “Are the painkillers helpin’ ya?”

Fitz shook his head. He tensed at the heavy sigh that Rumlow gave in response, fearing he had done wrong. “‘M sorry…” 

“You ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” Rumlow murmured. Fitz couldn’t help but move in closer to Rumlow’s touch. If anyone were to ask why he’d done such a thing, he would never have an answer for them. “Just hate seein’ you hurtin’.” 

There was silence for several moments, nothing but the pounding in Fitz’s head, and Rumlow stroking through his curls to distract him from his pain. Fitz squeezed his eyes closed tight, hoping it would bring some sort of reprieve to the ache, but all it did was make him want to cry at the fleeting thought of how nice it would be to be back in his own bed on the plane. 

Fitz cracked open his eyes when he felt Rumlow lean over him to place a kiss to his forehead. A frown crossed his face, and for the second time that day, he wondered what was wrong with him; he should have been pleased that Rumlow was kissing his forehead because usually it meant he was going to leave the house for a while. 

“Wish I could stay but I got shit to do,” Rumlow whispered. He brushed growing curls from Fitz’s eyes before he smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “Ward is ‘round here somewhere. I’ll tell him to keep checkin’ in on ya ‘til I get back. You wanna go back to bed for a while, sweetheart?” 

Fitz closed his eyes again and nodded. He didn’t necessarily want to move, but at least when he was in the bedroom, Rumlow was the only person to come in and bother him; staying downstairs would mean there would be HYDRA agents stumbling in and out, and who knew what would happen to him without Rumlow around? 

Rumlow didn’t hesitate to carry Fitz from the sofa and up the stairs. He kicked open the rickety door that seemed to squeal louder and louder with each passing day - probably a sign that any day now it was going to fall off its hinges, but Fitz wasn’t sure if he cared - and made a beeline to the bed. He was gentle as he deposited Fitz down into the moth-eaten blankets, that same tenderness Fitz was becoming numb to always present as Rumlow tucked him in tight. 

“I’ll be back soon, baby.” Rumlow leant down and kissed Fitz. He caressed Fitz’s cheek for a few moments before he pulled away and gave a smile that Fitz couldn’t tell if it was more sincere or less threatening for once. “I love you.” 

Fitz didn’t respond; he only closed his eyes and forced himself into sleep. 

***

Fitz woke up to the sensation of a hand running through his hair. He didn’t bother opening his eyes; unless this had all been a nasty nightmare, there was only one person it would be. 

...At least, that was what Fitz had thought until he heard a voice so familiar to him, his heart raced worryingly fast at the thought that maybe this  _ had  _ all been one big night terror. 

“Fitz… Fitz, wake up. It’s important.” 

Fitz sniffed back tears as he allowed his eyes to slip open. His voice trembled as he replied. If he looked around at his surroundings, he would realise the reality of the situation - but right now, he had eyes only for the person in front of him. He pushed himself up to wrap his arms around his visitor, his body aching, and his head pounding, but he had probably just slept for too long. “W-ward… Ward, I had the worst dream…” 

Ward smiled back, as calm and collected as Fitz remembered him to be. “And it’s about to get a whole lot worse.” 

Fitz was sure a bucket of ice had been tipped over him in that moment. He blinked slowly, realising that no matter how badly he wished he wasn’t, he was still in Rumlow’s bed. The tears rolling down his cheeks had a different meaning now. “No… No.” 

Ward laughed. His tone was no different to how he’d interacted with the team when they’d thought they could still trust him, and Fitz was sure that made it even worse. “Would you rather Rumlow back? He doesn’t care about you.” 

Fitz felt sick at the realisation that he  _ did  _ want Rumlow back, but surely it was only because he had come to trust that, whatever Rumlow was, he had no intention of harm towards him. 

...But should that be enough when Rumlow had killed all his friends and then kidnapped and held him hostage to be used as a sex toy?

Ward grabbed Fitz by the wrist and dragged him from the bed. Fitz wished he could protest, that he was strong enough to escape and protect himself - but who was he kidding? There had been a reason Coulson had always assigned someone to babysit Fitz on missions. 

Fitz went with Ward, hoping that it would mean less pain if he showed no resistance; it worked with Rumlow, so why couldn’t it work with Ward? 

Ward dragged Fitz downstairs and into the basement. In the back of Fitz’s mind, he considered that he should have expected it by now; it seemed that the only entertainment available in this hellhole for the other men was Winter. 

And sure enough, when Fitz descended the last of the steps and stood on the basement floor feeling like he was going to vomit from how horribly his head was spinning, the murmurs of other men were audible. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going on, and Fitz wished he had the strength to stop it all. 

But alas, Fitz kept his head down and his mouth shut as he followed behind Ward like an abused mutt that had learned to obey. 

Rumlow must have been gone for a while, Fitz figured, since from the looks of Winter, the men had been down here for a long time. There was blood on his face, presumably from a split lip, and he had been stripped of his rags, revealing bright, shimmering blood all over his chest and thighs. Blades glistened with red by his feet, and Fitz’s stomach churned violently as he realised the implications. He turned to Ward, his eyes wide and shiny with tears. “You’ve been cutting him.” 

“Eh.” Ward shrugged. “Does it really matter?” 

“Yes! It -” Fitz cut himself off with a harsh swallow, his bravery gone as quickly as it had mustered. He bowed his head submissively again, all fight gone, and for no reason other than that he was nothing but a coward. 

Ward smiled. It wasn’t a taunting smile or even close; it was a perfect replica of the occasional smiles he’d give his team once upon a time - and that was why Fitz truly didn’t know what to think. “I’m glad you care so much about that thing. It’ll make things good for you then.” 

Fitz frowned. He fixed Ward with a questioning look, but before he could voice his confusion, he was flinching away from Ward reaching for him. “W-what are you doing…? Ward! What are you  _ doing?! _ ” 

Fitz felt pathetic at the way he slapped at Ward’s wandering hands, but there wasn’t much else he could do with the way Ward had grabbed him by the shirt and was trying to pull it over his head. 

Ward growled at Fitz’s struggling. He let go of the shirt and instead slapped Fitz across the face. “Stay still! Someone hold him!” 

Fitz burst into tears when a body more than twice the size of his own grabbed him from behind and put him in a choke hold. He screamed, trying his hardest to escape; if they had been using knives on Winter, surely they were going to kill  _ him _ …

“Ward, please! Please!” Fitz didn’t care how pathetic he was in his hysterics; he was terrified, and no matter how messed up it was, he was desperate for Rumlow to come back, because at least Rumlow wouldn’t do this to him. 

Fitz’s senses were overloaded. He was too warm from the body behind him, his nostrils assaulted by an unpleasant stench that wafted from the man behind him relentlessly. The room was too loud, deafened by the yelling and raucous laughter and his own screams and pleads. His skin burned and itched and he needed so badly to claw his nails at his flesh and tear it from his body to stop the overwhelming. 

Ward hummed happily as he pulled Fitz’s shirt from his body. He tossed it away to the side and, without hesitation, leant down to unbutton and unzip Fitz’s jeans next. Fitz let out his loudest scream yet in that moment. 

“What the - restrain him!” 

Fitz didn’t understand what Ward was yelling about; Fitz was in too tight a hold to escape, and Ward hadn’t had any issues in sliding his jeans down his legs. He understood what was going on when he felt a solid weight slam into the man behind him, though. Through watery eyes, he watched the way Winter seemed to go feral in attacking everyone in the room. 

“Asset!  _ Stop _ !” 

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut tight as the loud crackle of electricity deafened him, and Winter fell to his knees. He heard the stun batons smacking away again and again and again, and when Fitz finally dared open his eyes, he wished he hadn’t; the way Rollins kept smacking his baton into Winter’s groin couldn’t be healthy for him. 

Fitz watched the way Ward stepped calmly into the scene now, putting his hand onto Rollins’ shoulder and stopping him. There was a faint thought in the back of Fitz’s mind about why Ward seemed to have replaced Rollins as Rumlow’s second-in-command, but it was pushed away within seconds as he heard Ward’s calm tone fill the air. 

“Now, now, Rollins; we don’t want him to not be able to get it up, now, do we? Where would be our fun?” 

Rollins sneered, but he still sheathed his baton and stepped back. Unhappily, of course, but then again, when had Fitz  _ ever _ seen him look happy about something? 

Ward smiled again, extending a hand to Winter that looked too friendly, too caring - too…  _ chummy _ to be comfortable. “On your feet, Asset. We have an important job for you to do.” 

If it was conditioning, or something else, Fitz couldn’t tell, but Winter’s face steeled from angry and loathing to impassive, and he stood tall, awaiting his orders. 

Ward’s smile widened almost imperceptibly, but Fitz could still see the tug at his lips as he gestured behind him to Fitz. “Good boy. You see my friend behind me? You’re going to be a good boy and lay down on your bed now. Okay?”

There was a look of suspicion, of distrust and fear in Winter’s eyes, but he still obeyed. Fitz’s heart broke. Winter moved slowly to the moth-eaten rags he slept on. He laid down, on his side with his back firmly against the wall to prevent harm from behind him. Ward laughed. 

“On your back, Asset. Yes… That’s it… Just like that.” A soft sigh that was anything but agitated escaped Ward. He turned around, ignoring the way Winter had grudgingly turned himself around so that he was on his back with his legs spread towards the group, as if by instinct he knew what was to happen now. 

Ward’s eyes were burning into Fitz now, and Fitz wanted to die. He closed his eyes and tried to back away when he realised what Ward was after, but he couldn’t get far because Rollins had moved behind him to grab him by the neck in warning. 

Rollins squeezed, his voice quiet and hissing as he snarled, “Don’t think that I won’t shoot you between the eyes if you try and run away; Rumlow deserves better than  _ you _ .” 

“Don’t scare him away, Rollins; come on.” Ward was playing now; Fitz could hear the tone in his voice. His focus was back on Fitz now, calm and gentle as he murmured, “I know you want this, Fitz. I know you’re a little closet fag. You’ll love this.” 

“No, I’m not,” Fitz whispered weakly. “I… I’m not…” 

Ward laughed. “Yes, you are. I know you  _ pretend  _ you want Simmons, but… Fitz, how many times have I seen you staring at me on the plane? How many excuses have you made to be  _ near  _ me? When I babysat you on missions, you were always so close to me. And you wanna know the best part? I wasn’t  _ oblivious  _ to that hard-on you had for me when you accidentally walked in on me fresh out of the shower.”

Fitz choked on his sobs as he shook his head desperately. “No! No, you’re lying! It’s not true!” 

“I wouldn’t lie. Not to  _ you _ ,” Ward whispered. He stepped closer, close enough that he could reach out and touch Fitz. He let out a small moan as his palms made contact with Fitz’s bare sides, but Fitz couldn’t help but think the gentle,  _ gentle  _ way he slowly ran his hands down Fitz’s body was nothing but deceitful. “Oh,  _ shit,  _ Fitz…” 

Fitz cried, long and loud. His body trembled violently, goosebumps appearing in place seconds after everywhere Ward’s hands had touched him, trying to reject the touch. But just as Ward’s hands slid up the inside of his thighs and towards his groin, Ward pulled away completely, calm and collected like he hadn’t just molested Fitz. 

“Of course… As much as I’d love to be the one to fuck you, Fitz… Rumlow would kill me if he knew I’d touched what was his.” Ward’s smile widened now as he continued. “So that’s why the Asset is going to touch you instead.”

Fitz yelped when Ward grabbed him by his curls and dragged him over to where Winter was laying. He sobbed when he was thrown forward so hard, he crashed into Winter’s legs.

“Perfect!” Ward clapped his hands together happily, his eyes shining brightly at the scene. “That’s perfect! Now, Fitz, why don’t you start off with a little sucking, and… We’ll see where it goes from there~” 

Fitz’s face was stained red from tears. “No… No, I don’t want to…” 

“Oh, come on, Fitz; he’s never had someone suck him before~ Rumlow told us you’re meant to be his friend! What’s wrong with friends helping friends out? Huh?” 

Fitz shook his head again, curling in on himself. “No… No, I’m not gay…” 

“Well, then… I’ll help you get started.” Ward was beside Fitz in the blink of an eye, grabbing his head and forcing it down to Winter’s groin. Ward’s fingers forced Fitz’s mouth open by squeezing at his jawbones, and he didn’t hesitate to shove him down all the way on Winter’s flaccid shaft. 

Fitz struggled to get free, to catch his breath and breathe again, but with Ward’s hand behind his head forcing him to stay there, he quickly realised that the only option he had was to obey, or he was never going to be able to breathe around the rapidly-hardening flesh in his mouth. 

Ward pulled his hand away now that Fitz had gone still. He smiled down at the scene, adjusting his own too-tight jeans as he watched the way Fitz brought his head up slowly to let air back in. He glanced at the Asset’s face to gauge his enjoyment, and according to the  _ very  _ wide pupils in his eyes, the Asset was enjoying it very much.

Ward didn’t stop the scene; there was no need to. Fitz had always been a quick learner, so the way he slowly lowered himself back down onto Winter’s erection slowly was no surprise. Nor was the way he couldn’t get very far down without gagging. It wasn’t even surprising to see the way Winter just stared down at Fitz as he rocked his hips in and out, clearly enjoying greatly the new sensations and unable to hold himself back.

What  _ was  _ surprising was the way Winter eventually reached out with his flesh hand, slowly, so slowly, and lowered it into Fitz’s curls. He didn’t push or pull or give even the slightest of force in any way; his fingers only curled, stroking into Fitz’s scalp and massaging in an eerily intimate manner for a weapon such as him. 

But Ward wanted to see more, and while Rumlow was going to be away for some hours, he was going to see. 

“Asset.” Ward’s tone was authoritative, and it was enough for both Winter and Fitz to freeze in place. “Put Fitz onto his back and fuck him how we fuck you.” 

Winter growled, long and loud. His hand slid from Fitz’s hair to his shoulder, and his grip looked almost threateningly protective at the way his fingernails dug into Fitz’s pale flesh.

“Do it, Asset,” Ward growled back. “If you don’t do it, then we just kill Fitz here and now. If you really care about him, you’ll fuck him.” 

Winter growled again, but it seemed he believed their words because he did as he was told. Fitz’s back hit the floor so hard, he yelled as his already-concussed head hit concrete and sent his world spinning furiously. Fitz couldn’t help but cry from the pressure in his head, and he considered if maybe it  _ was  _ better to just let Ward kill him now. 

Fitz had thought that sex with Rumlow was painful, but it wasn’t until Winter was shoving himself inside with no preparation or lubricant did Fitz realise that Rumlow  _ did  _ care enough about him to make it comfortable with all the pre-prep. Having Rumlow inside him was painful, but Winter was  _ agonising _ . He felt like he was being split in half, like his insides were being torn out of him, and all he could do was scream and writhe and try to get away. 

Winter’s panting was deafening in Fitz’s ear, his breath hot and his movements erratic. Fitz begged whatever god was out there for Winter to finish quickly, but it seemed like hours he was trapped beneath that hulking weight. 

Fitz was acutely aware of the smell of semen all through the basement, and he wondered if that meant that maybe Winter  _ was  _ coming, but wasn’t stopping. He wondered if maybe the other men were watching and getting off, but he didn’t care what it was; he turned his head to the side and vomited everything he had inside regardless. 

“Oh, shit!” Ward’s sudden yell made Fitz jump and cry harder as he tried to work out what he’d done wrong now. “Rumlow’s back!” 

Fitz burst into hysterics at Rumlow’s name, hoping that he was finally going to be saved. He screamed at the way the stun batons made a reappearance, smacking violently into Winter to get him off of Fitz. 

Ward leaned down and hissed into Fitz’s ear. “You tell Rumlow  _ any  _ of this, and we kill Winter. You understand?” 

Fitz nodded hastily, just wanting for Rumlow to come and save him. 

And of course, when the basement door was yanked open and Rumlow’s shouts from upstairs sounded, Fitz couldn’t help but start screaming again. “Rumlow! Rumlow, help! Please!” 

The rickety staircase shook violently when Rumlow ran down it. Fitz kept screaming when strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him away from Winter. He tried desperately to block out the way Rumlow screamed and cursed and shouted, wanted to pretend that he wasn’t hearing Ward telling Rumlow that Winter had just snapped and assaulted Fitz of his own accord while everyone else had been upstairs. He didn’t want to hear Rumlow believing them, telling them to get Winter under control so he could deal with him later.

No… All Fitz wanted was to be held in Rumlow’s arms and not be let go of. And no matter how bad that was, Fitz didn’t care, because being held by Rumlow was a hell of a lot more comforting than having to live on edge panicking when Ward would next hurt him. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Are ya ready, Fitz?” 

Fitz looked up from his shoes, faltering in tying the laces on them. He swallowed thickly before he nodded, his voice shaking as he whispered his response. “Yes… I… I’m ready…” 

Rumlow smiled. He waited for Fitz to finish tying his shoes and walk over to him before he reached out to take Fitz’s chin between his fingers and kiss him. “Good. You should be grateful I’m takin’ ya out with me; I coulda not brought you out with me, y’know? You gonna put your blindfold on now?” 

Fitz nodded. He didn’t fight the blindfold anymore; he knew that Rumlow was only doing it for safety precautions and not to hurt him - and if Rumlow  _ really  _ wanted him hurt, he’d still be leaving him alone when he went out. 

Fitz accepted the blindfold placidly and allowed himself to be guided out of the house and to Rumlow’s truck. He allowed himself to be placed in the passenger seat, and he didn’t question where they were going. The rumble of the truck was soothing, and as they drove, Fitz leant across and rested his cheek on Rumlow’s shoulder. He leaned into the arm that wrapped around his shoulders and held him close, wondering when he had gone from fearing Rumlow to seeking his comfort. 

“Don’t worry, baby.” Rumlow kissed the top of Fitz’s head. “I won’t let Winter hurt you again.” 

Fitz didn’t dare explain what had happened that day. He didn’t dare tell Rumlow that as soon as he was alone, Ward and Rollins took him down to Winter and made them do sexual acts together. He didn’t dare, and he was quickly forgetting why that was. “Okay...” 

Rumlow frowned. He turned his head to the side to rest it on top of Fitz’s head. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes...” 

“Are you thinking about what Winter did to ya? Ya been so quiet lately.” 

Fitz hummed. “...” 

Rumlow’s body went tense with anger. Fitz closed his eyes tight when he was sure he heard the squelching of Rumlow’s fingers tightening around the steering wheel hard enough for them to turn pale white. “Believe me, Fitz… If I coulda, I woulda  _ killed  _ him for what he did to ya…” 

“I don’t want you to kill him…” Fitz’s whisper was tiny, unconfident from speaking back to Rumlow, but Rumlow only took it as fear towards Winter. “Please… I don’t… I don’t… I...”

“You’re _mine_ ,” Rumlow growled. His arm around Fitz tightened, and although it felt threatening, Fitz was sure it was just protectiveness that Rumlow was displaying. “ _Mine_. Not _his_. _I_ take care of you. _I_ make sure you’re fed and happy and comfortable. _I_ gave you a home. Fitz… I _saved_ yer _fuckin’ life._ _He_ didn’t. He’s nothin’ but an attack dog I gotta keep ‘round. You owe _me_ for _my_ kindness. Yer _my_ pretty little slut, and if _anyone_ touches ya, I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em. You put out for _me_ \- _nobody else!_ ”

Fitz felt numb at the lecture, but he knew that Rumlow was right. After everything Rumlow had done for him, Fitz  _ owed it  _ to him to be a good housewife. Somewhere in his mind, he was sure that everything about this was wrong, so very, very wrong - but with how frayed his mind had become since his abduction, what if  _ he  _ was the one who was wrong for thinking Rumlow was the bad person? Rumlow hadn’t done anything to hurt him; he had protected him and cared for him - was it really so bad that Rumlow just expected sex with Fitz whenever he wanted it? 

It was a small price to pay for Rumlow’s affection, surely, and Fitz shouldn’t deny what he owed Rumlow for keeping him safe. He was just… being selfish otherwise. 

***

The drive today felt longer than usual. Every now and then Rumlow would bring Fitz along, but it was usually to see other HYDRA operants and retrieve equipment. But today, before the blindfold came off, Rumlow gave firm instructions that Fitz was not to look up from the ground unless it was to look directly at Rumlow, and only raise his head when told to. 

Fitz understood the precautions when he was guided out of the truck; from the sounds of life around them, they were at some sort of shopping centre. 

“Hold my hand, Fitz. Don’t let go.” Rumlow’s hold on Fitz’s hand was gentle, and he made no move to force Fitz in any way as they walked into the shopping centre together, Fitz pressed firmly by his side with his head down, unable to see the looks of fear and concern passersby gave them. 

They stopped walking, and Fitz felt a shudder of fear rip through him at the scraping that came from beside him. He dared a peek when something soft brushed against him.

“You like this one?” Rumlow waved the blue shirt he was holding in the air to emphasise his question. “It suits ya.” 

Fitz chanced a nod, not wanting to upset Rumlow. “Yes…” 

“Good. Go pick out what ya like. Anythin’s okay.” 

Fitz did as instructed, taking only moments to return with an arm full of clothing that would feel much softer on his body instead of the clothing he’d worn every day since his abduction. He’d chosen softness over quality or any other attribute, but Rumlow didn’t seem to mind as he only nodded and took the clothing from Fitz to pay. 

Fitz lowered his head again when he was told, looking very much like the abused, battered, scared housewife by her husband’s side, but no one intervened. No one stopped to ask if he was okay. And Fitz… 

Fitz didn’t know if it upset him or brought him relief, and he knew how fucked up that was.

But soon enough, the blindfold made a return, and they were on their way home. And Fitz couldn’t help but press against Rumlow’s side the entire drive, wondering when exactly it was that he’d given in to Rumlow. 

***

The new clothes were as soft as Fitz had imagined they would be, and as soon as they’d gotten back to Rumlow’s, he’d stripped himself off and tossed his old clothing into the wastebin. He’d followed Rumlow around the house like a shadow, never speaking unless spoken to, and throwing nervous looks to the basement door every time they passed it. 

Rumlow noticed eventually, and very firmly, he said, “No. You are  _ not  _ to go near that mutt without me.” 

Fitz wanted so badly to explain that it hadn’t been Winter’s fault; Ward had made them do it, and Winter had tried to protect him at first. 

But as always, Fitz’s coward side won out, and he stayed silent. 

They spent the night watching the TV, Fitz curled up in Rumlow’s arms willingly. His head rested on Rumlow’s shoulder, his body shaking, never really  _ not  _ shaking these days. His eyes were closed, listening to the TV rather than watching it as he focused on Rumlow’s breathing instead. 

But as always, Rumlow wanted more than just Fitz’s warmth. He slipped his hand past the waistband of Fitz’s jeans, stroking gently. Fitz’s breathing caught in his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to push Rumlow away - but surely he should rather this than what Ward made Winter do to him? 

Most importantly… Fitz  _ owed  _ this to Rumlow for looking after him, for feeding him - for fucking  _ buying him new clothes _ ! 

Rumlow pulled away, his pupils dilated and his breathing heavy. “Meet me upstairs, baby. I’ll be up there in a minute.” 

Fitz didn’t want to leave Rumlow, but he did as he was told. He went upstairs, clambered into the bed and tried to muster the courage to not fight back tonight. He didn’t want this - he didn’t  _ think  _ he wanted it - but didn’t this come with the territory of being looked after? Rumlow had always told him that he should be grateful for everything he did for Fitz, and that refusing to put out was bad manners and selfishness. Rumlow didn’t  _ have  _ to have bought him new clothes today. He didn’t  _ have  _ to have let Fitz follow him around while he tidied the house. He didn’t  _ have  _ to have let Fitz outside with him earlier to rendezvous with a HYDRA visitor. 

But Rumlow did, and Fitz had to be good and pay it all back. 

Rumlow returned, with Winter in tow, as usual. Fitz didn’t understand why Rumlow still had Winter hold him down when Rumlow believed that Winter had raped him of his own accord - but then again, there was a lot about Rumlow he didn’t understand. 

And sure enough, just like every other time, Winter stayed behind Fitz and held him down for Rumlow. Fitz was horrifyingly aware of the erection next to his face that showed Winter’s interest, but Rumlow didn’t seem to care; he said nothing; only laughed at the pitiful sight. 

Fitz knew it was bad of him, but as hard as he tried to stay still, he couldn’t. He tried to pull away when Rumlow’s lube-slicked fingers circled his entrance. He sobbed softly as he felt himself being stretched wide open, finger by finger until Rumlow was pleased and pulled his hand away. 

Rumlow grabbed the bottle of lube and coated his erection generously. Fitz’s writhing was much more erratic now, enough to have knocked Winter off-guard and slide his hands down his body. 

“Winter!” Rumlow’s shout was furious, followed immediately by the loud crack of Winter’s jaw being pistol-whipped. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch him! He’s  _ mine _ ! You fuckin’ touch him again and I’ll cut yer fuckin’ cock off myself!” 

Fitz hadn’t known what had sparked Rumlow’s sudden aggression. Not until he felt a warm hand that wasn’t Rumlow’s sliding away from his flaccid shaft. Winter must have slipped all the way down there because he had never attempted to touch like that before. 

But Fitz was too frozen by fear to say anything. His writhing stopped, and as much as he wanted to cry, he couldn’t even do that much; he could only lay in place, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as Rumlow rocked himself in and out, in and out, stopping only to withdraw himself so he could release against Fitz’s entrance. 

Fitz curled up into a ball now, a shaking mess of a ball, but still not crying. It was supposed to be his duty to put out, he knew, but how was he supposed to repay Rumlow’s kindness towards him when he was terrified? 

Fitz didn’t know, and he feared he never would. 

***

By whatever miracle it had been, Fitz had managed to slip into sleep that night. Winter was back downstairs on his rags, Rumlow fast asleep beside Fitz. It was the creaking of the bedroom door that woke Fitz. 

Fitz’s eyes snapped wide open, but he didn’t move; he stared at the wall opposite him with unblinking eyes, too scared of what was going to happen now to want to draw attention to himself. 

But it seemed that, for once, Fitz wasn’t the target, because Rumlow quickly started growling. “Fuck off, Rollins, you sick bastard! I keep telling ya I ain’t interested!” 

Fitz still stayed where he was, too scared to turn around and have Rollins’ attention on him next. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear. And what he heard, shook him to his very core. The sounds of a struggle until Rumlow was overpowered and held down, his whimpers and groans of pain at the rhythmic squeaking the mattress made under every thrust Rollins gave. 

And Fitz… Fitz could only lay there and listen, number and number until he wasn’t sure he could show any more emotion towards the idea of rape. 

And that was when Fitz knew, if he were to ever get out of here, he was never going to be the same. 


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn’t often that Rumlow left Fitz alone. Usually whenever it happened, there was some sort of emergency that Rumlow never really told him about. But guaranteed, whenever it happened, Fitz was in for a world of agony. 

Sometimes Fitz wished Ward would hurt him the way they hurt Winter. At least if they did, Rumlow would see the evidence for himself and he wouldn’t have to say anything and Winter would still be safe. 

But Ward… seemed to know the consequences of roughing up Fitz himself, and he never did more than caress Fitz’s body before throwing him to Winter with cruel orders. 

Today, however, there was a different tone to Ward and Rollins, as if there had been some big discussion between them and a decision had been made. When Fitz was forcibly dragged from the house and out into the woods by Winter, his suspicions were proven correct. 

“W-w-what’s goin’ on…?” Fitz was dropped on the ground, into a patch of dead, itching grass and pointed sticks. 

Ward rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? We got our orders. Garrett says we’ve got to get rid of you and Rumlow.” 

Fitz didn’t even know how to question this; his mouth fell agape like a fish out of water, his eyes wide as he realised that he was probably seconds away from having a bullet in his head. Part of him wondered if he cared or even welcomed this.

“Rumlow’s used up his usefulness,” Ward clarified. “He’s too enamored with  _ you  _ of all things to remember his cause. Once he’s gone, we’ve got the Asset to use it how it  _ should  _ be used - not just as a guard dog.”

Fitz flinched. He didn’t understand what was going on; as far as he knew, they’d all been loyal to Rumlow - but then he remembered that night he’d been woken to Rollins raping Rumlow, and he realised that maybe Rumlow had been more loyal to them than they’d ever been to  _ him,  _ regardless of their ranks and titles. 

“But…” 

“Oh, don’t you  _ but  _ me, Fitz,” Ward snarled. “You gonna stand up for that piece of shit? After everything he does to you? You gonna stand up for him over your  _ friend _ ?” 

“You’re not my friend!” Fitz found himself screaming with tears in his eyes. “If you were my friend, you wouldn’t be doin’ this to me! You’d be  _ helpin’  _ me, Ward! But you hurt me more than  _ Rumlow  _ does!” 

Ward’s teeth grit, and his eyes narrowed. Fitz knew he should be scared, but he couldn't find it in himself to be. Ward’s tone was hard now, an aggressive shift to the usual calm taunting he used with Fitz. “You think I’m not your friend? You think I don’t  _ care  _ about you, Fitz?” 

“If you cared about me, you wouldn’t be forcin’ me to be  _ raped  _ all the time!” Tears raced down Fitz’s face as he screamed back, adrenaline causing his heart to race and his body to tremble - but really, what else was new these days? “If you were my friend, you would have  _ helped  _ me  _ get away _ ! But you didn’t! You helped  _ keep me here  _ with a  _ psychopath  _ who thinks we’re in love!” 

Ward clicked his tongue before he shook his head. “Oh, Fitz… Fitz, Fitz, Fitz… What am I going to do with you?” 

Fitz was taken off-guard by the hand that shot out towards him. He tried to back away, but the fingers that wrapped so tightly around his throat, he was certain he could feel fingernails piercing him, kept him grounded. For once, he didn’t shy away and submit; he glared at Ward, his teeth bared. His voice shook, but it wasn’t from fear; it was the built up anger and resentment and  _ suffering  _ spilling out. “Fuck… you… Fuck  _ you _ .” 

Ward sneered. “No, Fitz. No. Fuck you.” 

Fitz tried to resist being manhandled onto his knees with his arms behind his back, but he was powerless when Rollins was called in to help restrain him. His chest heaved with every breath he gasped, a lightheaded feeling in his head that wasn’t from his concussion but rather from the adrenaline and rush of emotions he was experiencing. His eyes watered furiously, what he was feeling just too strong to keep inside. 

“Fuck you, Ward!” Fitz screamed. “I  _ hate  _ you! I thought you were my friend and you -“ 

Fitz was silenced by the backhand that snapped his head to the side and drew blood from his nose and mouth. He spat the blood out into the dead grass beneath them, his eyes locking back onto Ward’s as his breaths came in twisted inhales that sounded like he was on the threshold of choking on something. 

“Put him down onto his back,” Ward instructed coldly. “Let him see what happens when he talks back.” 

“There’s nothin’ you can do to me that hasn’t already broken me, Ward!” Fitz screamed. His eyes burned with the rage he was feeling, but even that wasn’t enough to deter Ward. 

“We’ll see.” And just like that, Ward lunged. 

***

Fitz kept blacking out. During his conscious moments, he considered that it was from the pain. But more than likely, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, it was from the loss of his sanity. 

Ward wiped blood away from Fitz’s hip, finding the flesh too wet to keep a grip on otherwise. The bloodied knife was in the grass beside them, Fitz’s broken and torn body laying boneless. 

“You going first?” 

It was one of the rare occasions Fitz heard Rollins speak, and it didn’t make it any less chilling. But Fitz wasn’t sure he cared anymore. If they killed him, he would welcome it. If they decided they were just going to keep toying with him, he knew he would have to bleed out eventually at the very least. If he had to endure hours of torture, so be it; death would come for him at the end, he was certain. He’d have to be more unlucky then he already was to survive. 

He couldn’t shake the knowledge that, once upon a time, he would have fought tooth and nail for his life. Knowing this just made him feel the numbest he’d been. 

“Of course I am. He’s  _ mine _ .” 

Fitz couldn’t remember when his clothing had been torn from his body - probably around the same time Ward had started slicing at him with the knife - but when he felt warm hands pushing his naked thighs apart, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the venom in Rumlow’s tone every time Rumlow had made that same claim. 

Fitz shook his head to clear the intrusive thoughts. He wanted to spit back at Ward, fight him off, but one leg lay useless with the femur bone shattered in multiple places from where Rollins had fired off an entire round of bullets into it. He wasn’t entirely sure about his left arm - it was too numb to know anything for certain - but he was sure it had been broken as well from where Ward had been snapping it into unnatural positions. Fitz’s entire body burned and ached and bled, but if he’d even had a chance to fight back, he didn’t once Ward took his unbroken wrist and drove the knife through his palm to keep it pinned to the ground. Fitz gargled again on what he could only think was blood in his throat. 

Fitz closed his eyes when he felt the first poke at his entrance. As usual, there was no lubrication, no preparation… Just horrible pain, but this time, it was barely distinguishable from the agony he was already suffering. 

“Oh, Fitz…  _ Fuck,  _ you’re tight.” Ward didn’t wait, didn’t give Fitz any time to adjust to the intrusion; right from the get-go, he set a rough pace, thrusting without any care for Fitz’s comfort or pleasure. 

Fitz knew he should be crying, begging, pleading for anything but this - but he couldn’t. He was sure that if he were to open his mouth and try to speak, he could gargle past the pooling blood in his throat, but… 

Well, Fitz  _ couldn’t _ . He didn’t have it in him. He resigned himself to his final moments, trying to lock himself away inside his mind until he died, but no matter where he tried to go to, he was ripped from his safe place with every thrust. 

The saving grace was that Ward didn’t last long, but that meant Rollins got his turn straight afterwards, and while Ward had been rough, Rollins was  _ harsh. _ Fitz’s body slid through the grass with every violent thrust, but again, all the pain seemed to blend into one. 

Rollins lasted longer than Ward did, and once he had came inside Fitz and pulled out, Fitz thanked every God out there for the mercy. But he’d forgotten about Winter, and of course, was any time alone with Ward complete without Winter abusing him, too? 

But Winter didn’t come this time, and the last thing Fitz had the clarity to think about was that maybe it had to do with the sudden shouting, several guns being shot at once, and then Winter grabbing Fitz and taking him to a lake he hadn’t been able to notice in his panic. Fitz was still focused on the gunshots, his mind so clouded by concussion and trauma and agony, he couldn’t register Winter putting his face into the water. He barely realised he was drowning, his breathing already compromised by the blood he was choking on, and when the darkness started to engulf him, Fitz smiled for the first time in  _ months _ as he welcomed the cold embrace of death. 


End file.
